Definition
by NellietheMarvelous
Summary: Possible tag for 3x14. It was supposed to be for the case. It was supposed to just be dancing and spying but honestly, she should have known it'd end like this. She should have known it the second his arm wrapped around her waist, tugging her closer on the dance floor, the press of him against her back, the twist of his hips, the gyrations that matched her own.


**Disclaimer: I don't own it.  
**

**A/N: Another little entry for Saturday Smut. This is off my 100 places for Caskett to have sex list (yes, I have a list) and this one is one of my favorites so here you go. Enjoy.  
Pretend there's no Josh in season 3 and this could be a tag to 3x14.  
**

It was supposed to be for the case. It was supposed to_ just_ be dancing and spying but honestly, she should have known it'd end like this. She should have known it the second his arm wrapped around her waist, tugging her closer on the dance floor, the press of him against her back, the twist of his hips, the gyrations that matched her own. She should have known the moment she slipped into the dress. Part of her _had_ known and she hadn't done a damn thing to stop it.

To stop the vibrations that pulsed with each beat, the heat that flared with his breath on her neck - she did nothing. Not a thing. Just backed into him, let their bodies act as one. Her fingers tripping over his and pushing his hand to settle low on her stomach. The rumble that rose from his chest, the one she could feel against her spine. It's not surprising at all that they're here.

Not after the press of his mouth to her neck, the silk of his lips to her skin, the warmth of his sigh and the shiver that shot straight down to her core. Something hot twisting inside, coiling into a ball of arousal. He made her crazy - he _makes_ her crazy. And she knew in that second, still _knows, _that she just wanted him. Needed him.

And it was her that had tangled their fingers, made him follow as she led the way. It was her. But it was all because of him. The smell of him, the warmth he radiates. The stroke of her thumb over the inside of his wrist had him stumbling after her, commenting stupidly about the lighting when she pushed him through the door. And then she'd locked it and she never should have done that. It was the moment she lost the control.

It's how they ended up here. Next to the sinks. They don't do this. They aren't like _this _but they are now and she doesn't know how she feels. Nothing registering but the craziness.

She's out of her mind. Completely insane. Kate Beckett has officially gone off her rocker and it's all his fault. Castle. Always him. He's the reason her back is pressed to a stall wall. The metal cold against her bare skin, her dress open, panties pushed aside and body sliding down the smooth surface only to be met with a thrust of his hips, his arms keeping her up, his chest smashed to her own. The hard length of him invading all the right places. Pressing, stretching, filling. Her legs locked around him, heels digging in, forcing him closer. Making her gasp something hot into his ear and claw at his scalp.

Too slow. He's being too slow but she can't even catch her breath long enough to complain. To demand. A jerk of his hips, the feel of him deep within, the hair she's clutching in her palms. All of it makes it impossible to do anything other than roll her body against him, meet each thrust with her own. Harder, faster - his name on her tongue. His name_. Castle._

A stutter, a pulse, a tremor in her thighs as he grips her tighter and slips inside with a little more power. Stronger. Her body pliant, buzzing, offering no resistance. Just giving way, letting him thrust faster, a slick slide of _them_. She didn't fight him on this. Not really. A weak protest that she had no right making when she was the one that led them here. And then she was against the wall, her dress loosening, skirt hiked around her waist, entirely ready and not at all prepared for that first slow undulation of his hips, the press of him, the push, the friction created when he eased inside. But now? Now she's just _feeling._

The downright sinful nip of teeth at her shoulder, the sharp jolt that has her clenching around him. The growl that escapes when he hoists her higher, body straining to be closer, to be deeper and she wants to tell him it's impossible. She wants to show him that no one has ever been this entwined, this embedded. Between her thighs, in her heart. She keeps the words to herself, head falling forward, choking on air.

Her lips parting, the fabric of his jacket dry and tasteless against her tongue. Rough. She moves faster, climbing higher. Just a little sloppy with the kiss she laves over his neck, tasting the sweat. Matching the way her lower half slaps at his. Joining, letting go, releasing. And it's hot in here. She's burning, sticking to him, the obscene slick sound it makes when he pushes back in, hard and unforgiving. _Yes_. Yes this is what she _needs. _

He's letting go of restraint. No longer controlling himself and her head hits the wall with a thud, her neck exposed to his assault. Her muscles tightening, preparing, quivering in anticipation. She doesn't know if she imagines the sound of her name being kissed into her skin or if he's actually chanting it but it's enough. Enough to have her tightening around him, curling into him.

_Enough._ The groan from his lips, the thrust, the stretch inside, the friction created with short, quick jerks of their hips. No longer long and slow, just raw and unburdened. Quick and dirty. No finesse, just raw need. The sting of the knot snapping, unraveling. A moan falling, her hands gripping at his neck, her nails biting into his ear when she comes undone. Clinging. And she knows he feels it, knows by the falter, the hot panting and the way he speeds up. Eager for his own release.

Freedom. That's what it feels like. She's free and she's still clutching him, clenching around him when he stills, his hands gripping her thighs so hard she'll have bruises tomorrow. And it's over with a tight groan muffled against her neck as he spills into her. Breath harsh and fast over her flesh. Hers is too. Lungs fighting for air, fingers relaxing, but she doesn't move, doesn't open her eyes.

He'll be gone if she does. It'll actually be over. She hugs him tighter when he eases her legs down, heels meeting the tiled floor with a soft click. She doesn't really know what to do now. They've never...she didn't think...she has no idea what to say. But he's hugging her back, arms linking around her waist and it gives her the courage to pull away, to open her eyes.

His are still closed.

"Castle," It's a whisper, barely his name. Cracked and cautious and hardly audible over the boom of the bass but it's enough. She catches the blue as soon as his lids flutter and she's struck. Unsure of everything because he looks just as confused as she feels. She doesn't have words.

And it seems neither does he because he's staring, only a moment, and then he's fumbling to pull his pants back up, tucking his shirt back in and fixing himself with a flush in his cheeks. She put that red tint in his skin - it's because of her.

It isn't until he's avoiding her - eyes darting around the bathroom that she knows they can't let this go. They have to talk but not here.

"Kate, you -" Her name again. Sweet from his lips but the wide gesture of his hand has her looking down, realizing that the skirt of her dress is still pushed up, her panties still tangled to the side and with a mumble that she's not even sure are real words, she pulls it down and shifts her hips. It doesn't help.

She's never been one to feel awkward. Not usually but _this - _her hand snaking up her own dress to readjust a scrap of fabric that's out of place because Richard Castle just fucked her against a bathroom stall - that's a bit nerve wracking for her. Even if she is the one that started it. Her partner, the way he gulps, the fact that she can hear it. She's not one for words. She _sucks_ at finding words but she's pretty good with actions.

So she steps back into him, lifting to push her mouth into his cheek and he comes through. He's the one to offer the words that struggle to make it out of her mouth.

"We should talk." She doesn't say anything - still unable to but she offers a nod. "Not here. Your place?"

Her lips tilt just a little because he's offering something safe for her. Somewhere she holds the power and she just gives him another nod, hand trembling when he offers her the keys. She doesn't have to snatch them this time - he's giving them.

* * *

She feels better after the drive, after he toyed with the radio incessantly and she snapped at him twice. She feels normal again, like she didn't have her legs wrapped around him, doesn't know what it feels like when he pushes into her. But the truth is she did and she does and they'll have to find a way to be okay with it. To keep going. She just hopes they're on the same page.

It's still quiet between them when they move through her door, into her apartment. A hush that she's uncomfortable with. He stands until she swipes a hand in the general direction of her couch.

"I - uh, I'm gonna go -" She doesn't finish her sentence, knows he understands when he smiles softly. She just needs to clean up, get out of the sopped underwear riding up into places it shouldn't.

She retreats to her room. It gives her time to think and to clear her head as she strips. She leaves her dress and panties in a heap on the floor. Not caring to pick them up right at the moment because she doesn't want him to think she's running away. Not when she's trying to do the opposite. She only lets herself have a second to sit - let it sink in that she actually had sex with him in the bathroom of a club. She drops her head into her hands, cursing herself for letting it happen like that. And then she's over it, forcing herself to swallow it down and get back out there. She tugs on a pair of shorts and a shirt, and heads back out to the living room. To talk.

She catches him in a similar position she was just in. His head in his hands, fingers fussing in his hair. The soft strands that she's had her fingers locked in. But he must hear her because he looks up, catches her eyes and her heart becomes cement. Heavy in her chest as it pounds away against her ribs. She erases the space between them, choosing to sit right beside him instead of at the other end.

"Castle -"

"That shouldn't have happened." And with those words her heart stops completely, dropping to the pit of her stomach as a lump fights to form in her throat. Four words. Twenty-four letters and she feels split open. They hurt. More than she thought would be possible.

"Oh." It's all she can say. Because she was coming to tell him that maybe they could try again - this time with no barriers and a softer venue. But he isn't looking at her now. His eyes are focused on something faraway and she's fighting against the knife in her chest. "What...are you saying?"

"What you were coming out here to say." That's when he turns, blue eyes filled with something dark. Something she doesn't want to see. And he's wrong. He's so very wrong.

"No." She reaches for his hand, fingers stroking over his knuckles until she slides them to tangle with his. Curving her palm over the back of his hand, slipping through the cracks. Just like he does. He slips so easily through the tiny holes, the jagged cracks in her walls. He makes her something better, and she isn't letting go.

"Beckett,"

"Hush, let me say this." He stares back at her, mouth closing and her eyes are drawn to his lips. The hum in her skin already coming back to life, the heat flowing. She wants him again. "You're good for _me. _I wasn't going to tell you it shouldn't have happened."

She leans closer, unable to resist the pull. Now that she's had a taste she only wants more.

"I was going to say that we should do it again, maybe go to dinner. I hear that's what dating -" She doesn't get the chance to close the distance. As soon as the words are stumbling out, he's doing it for her. Meeting her mouth with something soft. A slow kiss that has her pulling him closer, arms around him, hands on his back.

And this time when their bodies are joined with him buried inside, cradled between her thighs, there's not a stitch of clothing in the way. Nothing to impede the exploration of their hands. No reason to stay quiet, to muffle sound with fabric or a mouthful of flesh. There's no loud bass from music, no cold metal at her back. Just soft mattress, a plush pillow and the full heat of him against every inch of her skin.

**a/n: The mix of past and present tense is on purpose. Also we're pretending the guy they were looking for wasn't there. Okay?  
**


End file.
